


You Take the Devil Out of Me

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, F/M, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Jared tells you Sandy is pregnant, you’re both toking in the back of the makeshift office, waiting for the sun to set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Take the Devil Out of Me

**YOU TAKE THE DEVIL OUT OF ME**  
SUPERNATURAL RPS  
Jared/Jensen; Jared/Sandy; Sandy/Jensen; Jensen/OMC; Jared/OMC  
 **WARNINGS** : AU; prostitution; drug use; abuse

  
The first time Jared tells you Sandy is pregnant, you’re both toking in the back of the makeshift office, waiting for the sun to set. Jared hands you the blunt, pinched together between his fingers, face scrunched up as he holds his breath. You like blowing rings of smoke through your mouth, choke on one as Jared tells you, choke and then laugh, your hand on his knee, warm through his jeans, and Jared’s saying, “It’s not funny,” even though his mouth is curving, even though his eyes are wrinkling with laughter.

Jared’s saying, “Dude, it’s not funny,” even though his lips are smiling and your hand is moving farther down his thigh.

Jared’s saying, “No,” even though he’s not stopping your hand and his legs are starting to separate at your touch, his jeans worn and dirty, his skin like fire.

Jared’s saying, “Oh,” his head rolling back, his mouth parting, your hand slipping quiet underneath his waistband, slipping soft, the blunt burning out slowly, forgotten, on the floor.

***

You like tall guys. Usually older, the ones that are married and have kids and end up wandering the streets after bed-time with a whole lot of cash in their wallets. The other boys like to call you a daddy fucker, laugh and say, “Here’s another one, Jen,” laugh and say, “Here’s another Daddy.”

You don’t mind, though, but only because you know that the older men never fuck around.

Jared likes boys. The ones that are just out of college, around his age, likes to fuck them and then come back at the end of the night and curl up in your bed, bury his face in to the crook of your neck and cry about what he could have had, what he might have been. He likes smooth skin, baby faces, likes to kill himself over the fact that he’s never going to be them, no matter how hard he tries.

Jeffery doesn’t care who you fuck, just as long as the pay’s good and the john doesn’t hurt the merchandise, gives you little white envelopes filled with cash at the end of the night and winks, says, “Nice catch, Jen.”

Says, “You always seem to pick out the best ones.”

***

The second time Jared tells you Sandy’s pregnant – “Three months,” he says, these dark circles around his eyes, his bottom lip worried raw and bloody – his hands are in your hair and his mouth is covering your own. You wonder why he pretends to be straight at all, why he even bothers with a girlfriend, but none of that comes out with Jared pinning you against the door to the office, with Jared moaning sweet and soft in to your neck, his fingers burying themselves beneath your jeans, his teeth biting frantically at your jaw line. None of that comes out with your head thrown backwards, your fingers flexing open, flexing closed, searching for flesh.

The second time he tells you, Jared’s fucking you against Jeffery’s door, the broken doorknob poking sharply in to your stomach, sunlight streaming in through the crooked blinds, all the other boys asleep in the next room, Jared’s name hard and fast and sloppy on your tongue.

The second time, Jared’s mouthing, “Sandy,” in to your skin.

Mouthing, “Love you.”

And you wanna tell him to go home to her, you wanna tell him to just forget about this, forget about you and the money and this life, to just go out and try to be one of those boys he cries over in your arms at night, but, his lips and teeth and tongue on your skin, you’ve never been that selfless in your entire life.

***

Sandy says, “It’s a girl,” flushes a palm flat against her stomach, just barely curving over her jeans, just barely showing. There’s no ring on her finger, no smile on her face, and she looks at you wounded, her eyes tired, her mouth slack.

Sandy says, “Just thought you’d want to know.”

You want to say, “Fuck you,” your eyes narrowing, your hands clenching. You want to say, “I had him first,” but you both know that’s not true.

Sandy says, “You can feel, if you want,” presses your hand against her belly button, the raised flesh there, presses your hand hard, tight, and runs a thumb down your knuckles.

Sandy says, “Maybe she can feel you, too.”

You want to say, “Please,” and “Don’t,” but your mouth is so dry, you don’t think anything could pass through your lips.

Sandy says, “Maybe she can hear the sound of your voice,” wraps her hand around yours, her other around your bicep, curling, her long nails sharp against your skin, her feet shuffling forward enough so your chest hits hers. You can smell her perfume, can feel her breath against your throat, can feel the soft, swollen belly beneath your fingers. Her mouth is so close to yours.

Sandy says, “Maybe she knows who you are.”

Says, “Her father’s best friend.”

***

The next john you pick up, well, he says he’ll give you a wad of cash the size of your fist if you let him call you dirty names, his mouth right up against your ear, his hands rough on your hips, blunt fingernails that dig in hard, dig in sharp, as he thrusts in to you, as he says, “Bitch.”

As he says, “Fucking whore.”

The one after that, well, he’ll double that if only you’ll let him hit you a couple times. Smack you around, leave bruises on your chest and back and thighs, ones that pinch and swell and turn ugly colors, leave handprints that will stand out against your shallow skin, that would fade in a few weeks if only you could stop pressing your fists against them, stop letting the hurt swallow you whole.

Jeffery kicks you out of the loft, says, “I ain’t in the business of feeding into sick delusions,” tells all the other boys to stay away from you, to never look you in the eye. You wander through a few shelters, stay with a couple of users only to trade sex for their stash, sleep in buses and subway stations and under bridges when it’s not too cold out.

The tricks stop giving you money and start giving you food.

You don’t see Jared for weeks.

***

Sandy says, “She’ll be a good girl when she grows up.”

Says, “She’ll have a daddy who loves her.”

You just can’t get the taste of her out of your mouth, no matter how many guys you kiss.

Sandy says, “A daddy who’ll never leave her.”

***

The third time Jared tells you Sandy’s pregnant, he says, “We just can’t do this anymore.”

Says, “This is so wrong.”

His lips on yours, his hands on your face, your arms, his hands leaving warmth wherever he goes, his fingertips and your tingling skin, the way you just can’t breathe when he’s this close, when he’s so fucking close.

You want to say, “You never thought twice about it before.”

You want to say, “Fuck her,” but Jared would never turn his back on Sandy, never turn his back on their baby, no matter how much trouble it would be, no matter how fucked up this whole thing is. Jared would never turn his back on being normal for once.

Jared says, “I need you to understand,” his hands and your face, his lips trembling just inches away from yours, his fingers, your face flush with heat.

Jared says, “I need you to agree with me,” but what he really means is, “I need you to let me go.”

You want to say, “No.”

You want to say, “Please,” but you’ve never been one for complicated love triangles. And you’ve most certainly never been one for honesty.

Jared says, “Jensen?”

And, your lips and teeth, your shaking hands, the way you step away from Jared’s touch, the way you smile and laugh and pretend like everything’s alright, like everything will be okay, you say, “Don’t be so serious, Jared.”

You say, “It was just a bit of fun.”

You say, “It was just sex.”

***

Sandy says, “Maybe she’ll know who you are.”

Says, “The one the never stuck around.”

Says, “The one that got away.”


End file.
